


Honey

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Female Bombur, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3463397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Near Beorn’s, Ori has his eye on the loveliest creature in the land.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MocaJava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MocaJava/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for anon’s “fem!Bombur. I'd like her to look just like male Bombur and to be considered the dead sexiest thing by Dwarven standards. Show me someone (or multiple people) lusting for that curvy beauty” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=25504514#t25504514).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The one good thing about giant bees is it leads to giant flowers, and everywhere Ori looks around the path, huge, colourful petals are reaching up to him. Gandalf lets them wander slower than usual, probably to keep a look out for this strange “friend” of his, and it gives Ori the opportunity to finally admire his surroundings—a welcome change after the rushed drudgery of the mountains and goblins.

He has an ulterior motive for stopping around the flowers in particular, although he does enjoy them for himself to some extent. The pleasant scenery has him smiling more than he means to. The air is warm and crisp with floral scents, and though Ori only picks the blossoms very sparingly, there are just so _many_ choices. He gathers a long sunflower and a flushed begonia and a plush chrysanthemum, and he’s just trying to pinch the stem of a rosy tulip when he hears giggling behind him.

With his half-formed bouquet in hand, Ori glances over his shoulder. Dori and Bombur, Ori’s two favourite dwarves, have strayed the farthest back. Ori isn’t particularly surprised to see Dori passing a bundle of daisies into Bombur’s thick hands, but it’s still disheartening. 

His own flowers fall limply to his side. He knows it doesn’t have to be a competition. Bombur’s already married, anyway—of _course_ she is, a gorgeous thing like her—so Ori knew going in that he would have to share. But the fact that _Dori_ beat him to it is particularly disparaging, because how is little scribe Ori supposed to measure up to great warrior Dori?

Bombur _deserves_ a man like Dori, too. She smiles as she lifts the flowers in her palms, rifling through with one fat finger, crushing the soft petals into a tangy powder she can bring to her lips, pink tongue laving over the ends of her finger tips. Bombur always has a special way of eating that shows off all her charms, but seeing her eat _flowers_ is almost too much for Ori to handle. She’s devastatingly beautiful, has been from the start, but she looks especially radiant in amongst the gardens, with the sunlight bathing her luscious curves in yellow-gold and her eyes bright with affection. Dori blushes and grins, always the gentleman. He’s strong, the strongest in their company, perhaps the only dwarf here strong enough to be worthy of a woman so full as Bombur, but he’s kind and sweet, too. If Bombur does choose him to share part of her life with, Dori will no doubt dote on her every whim, bring her tea in the evening and massage her feet after a long day’s walk and loving brush her orange hair and mustache. 

And then, perhaps, if he’s been good and Bombur is feeling in such a mood, he might get to see _more_ of her. And that’s where Ori has to turn his thoughts away, because it makes him burn with jealousy. He’ll never get to kneel at Bombur’s feet for a shot at pleasuring her, never get to see her bare, all her ripe pink skin and tufts of thick fur. He’ll never get to suckle on her heavy breasts or lick between her hefty folds. He can only admire her beauty from afar, stumble over himself in trying to impress her, maybe carry her pack sometimes and, perhaps, offer flowers. 

He waits for Dori and Bombur to finish first. They’re smiling at each other now, Dori awash in appreciation and Bombur kind but perfectly aware of just how dead sexy she is. Every dwarf in the company’s lusted after her, and maybe even little Bilbo, and sometimes Ori still can’t believe she came on this crazy quest with them, when she could’ve stayed at home with her husband and a mountain full of awed dwarves drooling over her. 

Finally, Dori slips his hand into hers, and they walk back towards the party, where Ori’s lingering behind. Bombur rubs the rest of the powdered daisies off on her hip as she moves, and somehow, it makes her seem more _real_ : crude flesh-and-blood instead of all goddess, who could maybe make use of one more little mortal with not enough to offer. 

When they pass him, Ori thrusts out the flowers suddenly, too busy blushing for preamble. Dori and Bombur both stop, looking just as surprised, and Ori wants to say something, _anything_ , but can’t.

Bombur grins widely all the same. She collects the bouquet out of Ori’s hands and tells him, “Thank you.” The words make Ori melt, and he can feel himself smiling dizzily. Even Dori smiles, like he’s proud of Ori for having the courage to approach such a woman. Bombur pauses between them for a moment, looking thoughtfully down at her handful of flowers. 

Then she asks them, “Help me?” And she holds them back into her hair, pressing them down like a makeshift hat. Dori and Ori both rush to help, weaving in the stems, which isn’t difficult given how wild and strong her hair is. They make short work of giving her a crown befitting of her beauty, and when one stray purple blossom tumbles out, she takes it to stick in the braid draped over her chest. 

She reaches down to either side, taking one hand from each in hers. Ori could die happy, having her warm digits tight around his little palm. 

She takes them back to the company like the queen she is.


End file.
